I’m thankful for him the way a lost
child is thankful for the moon -
lighting a path, ever-present,
never leaving them in total dark.
I miss him at random moments,
in tight, cramped spaces where I feel
like I can’t breathe - but I do, I breathe.
I continue on, in spite of grief.
In spite of wishing he could magically
appear and take all the pain away.
I’m thankful for him the way a stranger
once made sure I was okay, as I curled
up in the lobby of a building,
back against the wall, eyes red and puffy.
He never said he could save me, and I’m
learning maybe I never needed him that way.
I’m thankful he stayed, when I thought he’d leave.
I’m thankful he never called me names,
never spat in my face, never trampled my self-worth.
I’m thankful for him the way a father
reassures their child that monsters aren’t real,
that even when the fear overstays its welcome,
there will always be light to cast out the shadows.
I’m thankful he believed in me,
as I finally begin to believe in myself.
